Page 110 of Lost
My mood is officially spicy. I’m enjoying going forward, I don’t want to go in the opposite direction. If I have to start pushing for what I want, I think I’m finally ready to.
“I think Mondays are about to be maintenance spanking day,” he murmurs. At my wide eyes, he chuckles. “I’ve been doing some research, and I’m not above giving you something to ground you. There will be rules, though. I need your words, okay?”
“Okay,” I murmur, and he kisses my lips again before letting me slide down to the ground. His erection digs into my body as I do, and I whimper as I squeeze my thighs together.
“You’re just going to have to be patient,” he murmurs. “No orgasms until after food.”
Lars walks to the restaurant entrance beside me, his arm around me to tuck me against him. Snow is falling lightly around us, and I drop my head back to catch a snowflake on my tongue before winking at him.
“You’re so cute,” he rumbles, opening the door for me. “There are so many things about you that I shouldn’t want, but I do. I’m done talking myself out of this.”
“I thought you were done before this,” I tease him, feeling his hand move to the small of my back.
“I think I was done when I watched you suck Tyde’s cock and wished it was me,” he says, his lips against the shell of my ear as I whimper. “I want things I didn’t think I could have. It’s an odd feeling.”
I can understand why he thinks that. Slowly, Tyde, Caleb, and Lars are experimenting together. I meant it when I said that I wanted the Finnegan brothers to court both Tyde and I. There’s no reason to prolong happiness when life has a way of changing so quickly.
“No sad thoughts, baby,” Lars murmurs, nipping at my ear before straightening. “Hi, I have a last minute reservation under Finnegan, please.”
The hostess at the podium is beautiful. Her red hair is up in a bun, her black dress covering her curves.
“Yes, sir. Would you like me to find Corbin or Ambrose first, or would you like to be seated?” she asks.
“Seated first is fine. They can find me when they have a chance,” he says. “My omega is hungry, and I want to make sure we order soon.”
“I totally understand,” she says with a nod. She could be rude about it, but instead she gives me a sympathetic smile. “It doesn’t help when everything smells amazing.”
“That’s true,” I agree. “My stomach started growling outside.”
She grins as she leads us into the restaurant. There are people who are very dressed up, while others are in jeans and flannel shirts. I can pick up the dangerous vibes that some of the mafia men are giving off, and notice the cool glances I am receiving from their omegas.
I know that not all omegas are welcoming, and I’ve met my fair share of those who are catty as hell. They’re very jealous, protective of what they consider to be theirs, and never consider that the person in front of them may not even want any of it.
I predominantly avoid those types of people, because it makes me really uncomfortable to be around them. It feels like trying to breathe in knives.
I’m not a fan at all.
Lars pulls out my seat to allow me to sit down, and even helps me scoot back in. I slip out of my coat and put away my mittens in the pocket as I get comfortable, watching as he moves around the table. Once he’s seated as well, the hostess smiles at us and hands us menus.
“Mr. Finnegan called ahead with your gluten allergy. Anything on the menu can be prepared gluten free, just let your server know,” she explains. “Enjoy.”
Feeling excited, I open the menu to find that it’s predominantly Italian food. Chewing my bottom lip in concentration, I try to ignore the hunger pains to decide on what I want. It was about a forty minute drive here, and I was getting ready to make dinner when Lars surprised me.
My stomach currently hates me.
“This chicken piccata gnocchi is kind of calling my name,” I murmur.
“Then you should get it,” Lars says, his thumb running over my hand. He’s barely touching me, but I cross my legs as I struggle not to squirm. It’s like I’m touch starved.
I went from not seeing anyone, to having at least one alpha in my bed at all times. I love always having someone holding me, playing with my hair, kissing me.
“Nova,” Lars growls, waiting until I look up at him. “I’m trying really fucking hard, baby. All I can smell is you, and I can see how much I affect you. Control is not my friend today, not when you look so fucking pretty. Fucking you in Corbin’s office isn’t my idea of romantic.”
“Is that on the table though?” I ask, trying to hide my smile and failing.
Taking a deep breath, he groans at my words. Yet, his thumb running over my hand continues to remain gentle.
“It could be,” he grunts.
